He lowered the snake into a large wire-mesh cage and motioned Eric to a seat. The office had the cluttered, active disarray of an academician's retreat. A 'huge periodic table of the elements covered one wall, and excellent African safari photos another. The rest of the space was crammed with books and journals.
Above Blunt's desk was a sign that read: IF IT LOOKS LIKE A DUCK, AND WALKS LIKE A DUCK, AND QUACKS LIKE A DUCK, COOK IT.
"Thank you for seeing me," Eric said.
"I'm a professor. I'm supposed to see you, so I'm seeing you."
"I wanted to ask your opinion about a problem."
"That Leone woman?"
"Yes, sir."
Eric laid out his sets of E.K.Gs and, as quickly as he could, reviewed the theories he had developed and the research he had done the night before. ivor Blunt listened quietly, although he continually tapped his fingertips together as if to say, "Get to the end, please, because I already know the question and the answer."
"Here," Eric concluded, "are the three toxins I came up with as possible agents in these cases. I wanted to know what you thought of any theories, and also whether you could detect these substances in Loretta Leone's blood."
Blunt studied the list for a bit.
"Amanita, aconite, tetrodotoxin," he murmured.
"Nice stuff, nice stuff. Well, sir, the answers to your questions are: no, no, no, and yes, yes, yes."
"Pardon?"
"No, I don't believe any of these three drugs can cause the kind of picture you describe, and yes, I could detect any of them if they were there and I knew what I was looking for."
"But what about those accounts of simulated death in tetrodotoxin poisoning?"
"Scientific Swiss cheese."
"What?"
"Far too anecdotal. No blood sample testing, no levels, that sort of thing. These are big-league toxins, Doctor, I'll grant you that.
And nanogram for nanogram, tetrodotoxin may be the nastiest and most fascinating of them all. But I don't see it slowing metabolism enough to fool a competent doctor with modern diagnostic tools."
Two competent doctors with modern tools were fooled, Eric wanted to say.
But the toxicologist seemed impatient and anxious to get on with his day.
"I understand," Eric said. "One last question: If I were to obtain some of the Leone woman's blood, would you test it for me?"
"Completely off the record, I might. As I told you before, the medical examiner has not chosen to involve me in this case. The word I received was that he suspected incompetence on the part of a certain physician, but had absolutely no SUSpicion of foul play. I think he's dropped the matter altogether."
"Thank you, Dr. Blunt," Eric said, backing from the office.
"Thank you so much for doing this for me."
" Just tell these women out there that mouse was your fault, " Blunt said.
Eric left the office and went directly to the autopsy suite. He began with the secretary and, over the next half hour, worked his way through the technicians, the residents, and finally the director of anatomic pathology. There was no physical evidence whatever that Loretta Leone had ever been autopsied: no dictation (the medical examiner's office must have the tape, he was told), no body, no blood, and no tissue samples, either in formalin or in wax blocks awaiting sectioning and s9.
He tried calling Dr. Roderick Coreoran, but was told by the medical examiner's office that Corcoran was on vacation for two weeks.
The M. E. who was covenng him had no information on the case, although she was certain that any tissue or blood samples that had been taken would still be at White Memorial.
Totally dismayed, Eric pressed on, interrupting one person after another to help him search through samples of frozen blood and bottled organs.
Everyone he dealt with named someone else as probably responsible for the material he wanted. Finally, as he stood by the department secretary's desk trying to make an appointment to see the chief, he was paged to the E.R. to help deal with a mounting backlog at the triage desk.
As he left the office, a well-groomed man in his twenties who had been sitting in the waiting area stepped into the hallway and called to him.
"Excuse me, Dr. Najarian, but I was waiting to speak with Dr. Pollard, and I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with his secretary.
You're interested in Loretta Leone's autopsy?"
"That's right," Eric said, assuming the man was a resident. "Why, can you help me?"
"That depends on what you're looking for."
"What I'm looking for are some tissue or blood samples," he said.
"And you can't find any?"
"Nothing. People at the M.E."s office think they're here.
"That's strange," the man said.
"Par for the course, I would say." Eric glanced at his watch.
"Listen, I've got to get upstairs. Maybe I can check with you on this later, Where will you be in, say, an hour or two?"
"Probably at.my paper."
"What?"
"I work for the Herald. My name's call Loonies."
Loomis reached out his hand but Eric ignored the gesture.
"Why didn't you say who you were in the first place?" he asked.
Loomis smiled.
"You never asked me," he said. "Now, if it's possible, I'd like to talk to you in more detail about these missing specimens."
"Go to hell," Eric said.
He turned and hurried off down the corridor.
It was after nine before Laura forced herself out of bed and into the shower. For years she had listened to men tell her how beautiful she was, but Eric Najarian was the first to make her feel that way.
She felt reluctant to dress-to end the night that had brought so much pleasure to both of them. Finally she chose an outfit of Slacks and a light pullover-that she felt would not make any particular kind of impression on the police, and headed off.
She was crossing the lobby when the desk clerk motioned her over.
"Excuse me, Miss Enders," he said, "but you have a visitor. He's been waiting quite a while. I told him You probably wouldn't mind his waiting, but he wanted to wait." He gestured toward the front windows, where a uniformed policeman stood watching the passing scene.
His expression gave no indication that such a visitor was anything but commonplace at the Carlisle.
The Officer turned as Laura approached him. He was a young man somewhere between twelve and twenty was Laura's impression. His hat seemed a size too big, and she smiled at the fleeting thought that his service revolver might be something his parents gave him for Christmas.
"I'm Laura Enders " she said. "You're waiting to see me?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm Officer MaYer- Captain Wheeler asked me to pick you up and bring you down to headquarters to meet with him. Something about your brother.
':Have they found him?", I don't know, ma'am. I was just asked to pick you up."
Laura wished he would stop calling her ma'am.
She followed him to the patrol car, which was parked out front.
"Is Captain Wheeler involved with missing persons?"
"Yes and no, ma'am," Mayer said. "He's a captain.
He's involved with anything he wants to. be.
"But if your brother's missing, and Captain Wheeler's interested, I would think you have a good chance of finding him."
"Wheeler's that good?"
"The best, I'd say. Certainly the toughest."
"That's nice to hear. It's a coincidence your being here. I Was just on my way to Station Four to file a complaint against a funeral Parlor owner."
"Sure, ma'am."
Laura saw amusement flicker across the young man's face and sensed that she might be in for a long day.
Over the short ride to police headquarters, Laura learned what she could about the man who had sent for her. Wheeler was, according to Officer Mayer, a man who had come up through the ranks and earned his reputation primarily with vice and narcotics. Not too long ago there had been an organized demonstration of protest by a number of uniformed officers when he was passed over for the commissioner's job.